Blown Away – an epilogue

 

(a prologue to Ryan’s involvement with William Strannix)

 

"I'm not a destroyer, I'm a creator."
- Ryan Gaerity

It was hot in the confines of the Dolphin, and every part of his body screamed in pain as he watched Liam scramble away with the black cop. He could hear the rumbling of explosions close behind him rocking the ship, and they were moving closer.

Ryan Gaerity stilfled a bitter laugh as the fates prepared to cut his thread. So many things he had done, so many times he had escaped death, and now, left to die by the likes of Liam?

He grunted as he tried to get up. Damn he wanted to follow them! But when he tried to stand, his leg gave out from beneath him. Max had whacked it a good one back in the bar, and Liam didn't help the progress. He grinned again, remembering the blast from his beautiful lady that had removed the old man from this world. But, it seemed so long ago, when he was in control, when he knew he would succeed. With his right hand, he reached for the door ahead of him.

Perhaps it's time to let it go, he though miserably as he lost his grip on the door handle, hands slick with fresh blood. Behind him, the ship was quickly disentegrating.

I can't die, not now, so much left to... create...

He lost his balance and fell off the catwalk to the floor below--onto a iron grate imbedded in the floor. He could barely hear the sound of water somewhere below... at least, he hoped he heard water, that he was not just hearing things. He grasped the grate with his right hand, muttering oaths and half-prayers just as the wall behind him burst into flames. The grate pulled free with one tug.

He raised his hands as if offering himself to the mad gods in supplication as the fire blistered his back. His last thought as he fell into the darkness was that maybe, somehow, Liam got caught up in the blast and was dancing with his own demons in Hell.
---
I was painting when I heard the knocking at my front door. Nearly scared the shit out of me, hell I never have people outside at my door. I don't know that many people around here.

I slipped my hand amidst my box of paints and withdrew my glock, put a round in the chamber. Once I had been fearless, you know, young and immortal and all that crap, but that's what paranoia does to you. It isolates you, walls you in and eats at your brain and you start hiding knives in your boots and guns end up among the stamps and toothpaste and strawberry jam.

I looked out the peep-hole but I didn't see anyone. Curious, against my instincts I unlocked the door and opened it, safety chain still attatched.

No one there.

I started to close the door, but a hand, blistered, cracked, rust colored with dried blood virtually shot into the doorway. I almost peed myself and instantly remembered every horror movie I had seen as a kid, where everyone gets killed and the monster comes back for a sequel.

"Jade," the voice spoke.

And I knew; I knew who it was and I weighed my options.

My options sucked.

I slid the chain lock from the doorjamb. The door creaked open by itself, the first time I had ever found it eerie cause I live on a slope, and that's just it's natural tendency to swing open.

He stood there, well perhaps leaning was more like it, shadow of the man I once knew. He was supporting himself precariously with an old wooden baseball bat. His clothing was in dark tatters and looked better than he did. Still, he grinned like a demon, craggy face easing into a smile while his black eyes betrayed his true nature.

I sighed and lowered the gun.

"Ryan." The name tasted raw, and sounded strange. I hadn't uttered that name in years.

"I need a drink."

He staggered forward and passed out in my arms.

------
Fifteen hours he slept. Fifteen hours and I still had no idea what to think. I had heard about the bombings, had seen what remained of the old ship that was the Dolphin, scattered all over the bay and half of Boston. I had known what was going on, but I had refused to believe. I knew Liam lived in this same city, and I knew it's why I did. I'm a sentimental fool when it all comes down to it, I loved him, but I loved them all...

I watched him sleep and recalled nights that I wanted to forget I'd ever known him, the nights I drank too much and loaded my guns and put out the light and pondered putting out the light and wondered how he could have ever captured me like he did. But I knew how. As soon as I had heard that voice, I opened the door and let him in again, and it pissed me off that I did it. So, there I was, waiting for him to wake up, thinking of all the things I'd tell him. Even when he started getting bad, when he just simply lost his mind, he still listened to me. I don't know why.

I had only known him for a short time. Met him in a pub in Dublin. I remember his dark eyes watching me from the bar, very leonine. We talked about most things, literature, theatre, politics. By the end of the night, I was up in his room and by the morning I had been sucked into his personal crusade. At first Ryan had us believing that the bombings were part of some larger political picture, that there was a higher reason for all the people we killed. Instead, we discovered that he just enjoyed blowing things up.

"Jade."

His voice woke me from my reverie, but I didn't speak. All the things I had gathered up to say to him disappeared, and all I could do was look at him in the eye and hope that he got the idea that I wasn't exactly happy that he was there... which wasn't entirely true, but I was beginning to discover that I had no idea how to feel about his return.

"It's good to see you. Been a while."

"Yea, well I realized you were back when things started blowing up," I said sarcastically.

He chuckled and I almost slapped myself for enjoying the sound of it, almost musical.

"Ah, well, I've never been subtile. Don't know how."

I couldn't stand it. He sat up and smiled and I just wanted to scream. Why wasn't he in prison, why wasn't he dead, why couldn't--"Why did you have to come back? I was doing okay, forgetting about what we did, what we were, I felt like a real person again."

The smile faded and he looked at me hard. "As I recall, it was you who left."

I met his stare. "You wanna know why I left? I left because I couldn't lie to myself anymore. We killed 17 people with your bombs, Ryan, seventeen people. Apparently, you've killed more since then, but I wasn't there. When I left, I wanted to leave that person behind. I couldn't watch you be consumed by your... your obsession, by your need to destroy everyone and everything around you."

He got up, no sighn of pain, no hesitation, just up and walked over to me and grasped my shoulder, tightly, tightly. His dark eyes were raging with energy and for the first time since he'd been here I held my breath--

"You're wrong. I am a creator. The world was born in a similar way, was reshaped in fire. I want to bring it again. I am the catalyst of the new exodus." And his eyes held that old passion of our youth and I remembered why I had left.

"You were always poetic like that, elevating it all to a spiritual level. You made us feel like it was all worth it. For a while, at least."

"You never understood. None of you did."

"They're going to kill you, you know. Take your survival from that... that inferno you created as a warning. Forget all of this. Forget Liam, forget me, forget the past. Create fireworks!"

He smiled, and I thought he would laugh again. "I cannot do that, you know that as well as I do." His eyes were lucid and clear for a moment, and he spoke quietly, with conviction, "I can't run from my nature. If I do I'm not alive." He stepped closer to me, almost nose to nose. I could feel his breath, his dark eyes filled my vision, and he spoke in a low tone, almost pleading, "I want to be alive, Jade."

Yet, I did understand, in a way. He was being Ryan. And I knew that and I loved him for it in a way that not many people could understand, or even comprehend. Yet, I detested him, and myself, for it, cause he was a killer. Cruel fucking world.

"Live then, Ryan Gaerity. Just promise me one thing..."
---
Jimmy Dove awoke to the sound of tapping, rain rapping on the roof. He started to roll over, and realized that his wrists were tied to the bedposts.

"Hello, Liam."

The voice sent him into instant panic. His eyes grew wide.

"Ryan Gaerity! You're dead!"

A figure came out of the darkness, and the moonlight cast a soft glow, but not enough for Jimmy to make out Ryan's face. He was chuckling. "No, I'm not dead, but you are."

Gaerity had spoke these words so carelessly that Jimmy had to realize the weight of what he had said. Anger and fear rose up in him. "Okay, Ryan, you've got me, and you can kill me. But you can't bring back what you lost. You never can. You sorry sonovabitch."

"Sure Liam, I could kill you... sure," he mused. In an instant, he shot forward, and the light fell on his face and he was mere inches from Jimmy. His face, dark and craggy, was marred by a handful of small blisters along his left temple and cheek. The shadows gave his shinign eyes a supernatural cast, and Jimmy could swear that he could still feel the heat and the intensity of the blast eminating from him, almost vibrating with power. "But no! No... not yet. Not now."

Every muscle in Jimmy's body was stiff. The moonlight fell on Gaerity's bared teeth and he almost felt as if he was going to take a bite out of him. He felt dizzy and his ears were buzzing. Then, abruptly, Gaerity relaxed, withdrew into the shadows. His voice seemed to come from deep within. "But I will kill you, Liam. Never forget."

He nodded once, to himself, and patted Jimmy on the chest. "Go back to sleep, Liam," he said warmly, not unlike a father comforting his son who, scared of the monsters underneath his bed, cannot sleep. He swept his massive hand over Jimmy's face as one closing the eyes of the recently dead, and spoke in a hushed tone. "Perhaps I'm only a dream..."

Fortunately, Jimmy did sleep.

And even though he was never sure that the dream he had that night was real or not,

He never forgot.

 

To be continued…